


Unbelievable

by TheWildChilde



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26190421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWildChilde/pseuds/TheWildChilde
Summary: They’d left Redcliffe only a day ago and Dorian has already come to the conclusion that the south must be mistaken, as this person they’re calling ‘The Herald of Andraste’ acts more like a feral wildman than someone of noble birth.---Dorian can't believe the way Jac Trevelyan, supposed Herald of Andraste, behaves; he has the manners of an untrained dog.And yet, Dorian can't help but be drawn to him.
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	Unbelievable

_I can’t believe this is the famed Herald of Andraste._

_I can’t believe this is the man my mentor wanted dead._

_I can’t believe I went into the future with this man. And lived!_

_I can’t believe he nearly blew it because he wanted to save his friends._

_I can’t believe how nice his ass is._

Dorian huffs slightly and adjusts the staff on his back. They’d left Redcliffe only a day ago and Dorian has already come to the conclusion that the south must be mistaken; this person they’re calling ‘The Herald of Andraste’ acts more like a feral wildman than someone of noble birth.

The sun disappeared behind the horizon almost an hour ago, but they forge on, even as the light fails them. Solas, produces a soft blue illumination at the tip of his staff and the Herald stops, looking around.

“Fuck…when did it get so dark?”

_Is he serious? Did he not notice?_

“We are not far from a camp, Herald,” Cassandra says, and he offers her a lopsided smile.

_Stop that. It should be a crime to smile like that._

“Excellent, everyone holding up alright?” He casts his eyes over the group, getting a round of agreement. His eyes linger on Dorian, muted brown searching the mage for a long moment before drifting away with a smile. “Alright then, onward!”

_How is he so chipper after everything that happened?_

“You testing your mind reading abilities, Sparkler?” Varric speaks from beside Dorian’s elbow and the mage huffs.

“I get the distinct impression there wouldn’t be much to read.”

Varric chuckles and shakes his head. “You’d be surprised.”

They make it to camp quickly, up a hill and beside a lake. Dorian settles onto a log that has been set up around the fire, a scout giving pause before offering him some food. The rest of the travelling party settles around the fire and eats in silence. They’re tired and there’s still the decision to offer the mages sanctuary at Haven that lingers in the air like an unpleasant smell that no one wants to bring up.

“Where is the Herald?” Cassandra stands and looks around, and, sure enough, their group is sans one unwashed ruffian.

“Relax, Seeker, I’m sure he’s nearby,” Varric says, elbows on his knees as he leans closer to the fire.

She opens her mouth to protest and Dorian holds his hand up. “I’ll go find him.”

He’s not sure why he offers, but it placates the anxious Seeker, though she watches him leave the camp with suspicious eyes. Fire flares to life in his hand in a weak attempt to light his way, though it does little more than partially blind him for a moment.

“Kaffas,” he hisses, foot catching on a tree root, sending him stumbling up the path to the lake.

_This is ridiculous. You’re going to break you leg. He’s probably just…_

Dorian spots the Herald crouched by the edge of the lake, stripped of his shirt and weapon which sit nearby, propped against a rock. He splashes water on his face and chest, scrubbing vigorously.

“I wasn’t sure you bathed if I’m being quite honest.”

The Herald whips around, unbalancing himself and falling onto his ass in the water. A moment of shock passes between them until the wet warrior laughs, hauling himself out of the water and shaking his head like a dog. Dorian wrinkles up his nose and steps away, hand up to defend against the spray of water.

“I probably don’t wash behind my ears as much as my mother would prefer…” He picks up his shirt and pulls it on. The way he avoids meeting Dorian’s eyes isn’t lost on the mage and after a moment he catches the reason why. His face is wet from the lake, but his eyes are red and bloodshot.

_Redcliffe wasn’t easy on you, was it?_

“The Seeker was worried, Herald.”

“Cass worries too much,” he says, but there’s no resentment. “You don’t have to call me Herald you know. I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

“That’s all very well and good to say, but people will talk if we’re already on a first name basis.” Dorian holds his hand of fire up to supply more light as the warrior straps on his sword and shield once more.

“We went to the future, Dorian. You saved my life, at least twice. I think you earned first names.”

Dorian can’t keep the smile from his lips, gentle and fond. “It would be easier if I knew your name.”

“Oh…right.” The Herald laughs bashfully and shrugs. “It’s Jac.”

_Stop being so unrefined and so handsome at the same time._

“Well then, Jac, we should return, before the Seeker sends out a search party.”

When they return and settle around the fire Jac strikes up idle chatter with Varric, peppering the dwarf with questions about The Champion of Kirkwall and his companions and adventures. He seems to have read the book more than once if the way he brings up particular passages and questions their truth.

“That is not what you told me happened, Varric,” Cassandra chimes in at some point.

“See! You can’t tell me a mage fought the Arishok single-handedly and won like it was nothing. I don’t think I could beat Iron Bull in single combat, and I’ve got a shield!” As he speaks Jac pulls out a small dagger, no longer than his hand, from his belt and begins using it to pick dirt out from under his nails. Dorian balks.

“Give me some credit, Wolfie. Can’t have The Champion of Kirkwall looking like an idiot now, can I?”

“If he really fought single combat against a Qunari then he’s an idiot no matter how he won,” Jac teases. He wipes the blade on his pants and Dorian tries not to wrinkle his nose.

“Well, I think I’m going to take my leave and try to sleep.” Dorian stands and brushes himself off. “Goodnight all.”

Cassandra hums and also stands. “He makes a good point; we have a lot of travel ahead of us.”

That seems to be the cue for everyone to head for the tents, Jac and Cassandra to one, Varric and Dorian to the other. Dorian lays down and stares at the roof as Varric ties the tent door closed and settles. He hears shuffling in the other tent and quiet, indiscernible voices.

“Why do you call him Wolfie?” Dorian shifts, feeling a small stone pressing into his thigh.

“The Herald? A few reasons.” The silence hangs for a long moment.

“And those are?”

“My own,” Varric chuckles.

Dorian snorts and rolls his eyes in the darkness. “Not because he was raised by wolves, surely?”

“Might be.”

“You’re really not going to tell me, are you, dwarf?”

“When you’re older.”

“Andraste’s ass, you two, stick a sock in it!” Jac snaps from the second tent and there’s a thumping sound, followed by a wheezed ‘ow’.

_I can’t believe this is where my life has taken me._

+++

They’re not long back at Haven when the first of the rebel mages start to arrive. They come in large groups, huddling together like frightened animals, either avoiding the dark looks of some or shouting at anyone who will listen to them about the few Templars milling around. A particularly nasty fight breaks out and Cullen spends the rest of afternoon searching for an absent Herald. Dorian finds Jac sitting on the floor in the stables when he goes to check with the blacksmith, hoping to get a new blade for his staff.

“I’m not hiding,” Jac says around a mouthful of apple.

Dorian sneers and rolls his eyes. “Yes, that would explain why you’re sitting in the stable muck, eating an apple and making sure your Commander can’t find you.”

“Is he still mad?” Jac turns around and peaks over the edge of the stable wall. He makes a ridiculous sight and Dorian can’t help but laugh.

“I believe if you stay hidden another hour or so he’ll stop being angry and start to fret in that way he does.”

“Oh…like ‘mess up his hair ‘cause he won’t stop running his hand through it’ fretting or ‘pacing like a caged lion’ fretting?”

“Mmm, probably the former.” They both look over to Cullen, tapping his fingers on the pommel of his sword. Jac ducks out of sight as the ex-Templar looks over. “Your fabled Herald of Andraste,” Dorian mutters under his breath and heads next door to the blacksmith.

Harritt seems interested enough in putting a new blade on Dorian’s staff and they discuss techniques for a while until they agree that Dorian can come pick the staff up later. He leans on the fence around the stable and levels Jac with a serious look.

“Why did you choose to side with the rebel mages, Jac?”

Jac bites into his apple thoughtfully, offering the core to the horse nosing about him. “My sister is a mage. I understand their plight and wanted to help.”

Dorian would almost be touched, if the horse wasn’t slobbering all over Jac’s hand.

Eventually Jac is forced from his hiding place by The Iron Bull loudly pointing out exactly where he is—Dorian hears the qunari from the apothecary. He sees the Herald run past the tavern a few moments later, looking like someone set his ass alight.

_Probably Josephine. If anyone is secretly a mage, it’s her._

The assault on The Breach happens the next week and for a sweet moment of levity, no one treats Dorian like a pariah; no, he helped save the world, today he gets to be included. Amongst the revelry, Dorian catches sight of Jac dancing terribly with Sera and he cringes.

_He’s of noble birth, why does he dance like a drunken animal?_

Panic.

Civilians flee to the Chantry, anyone who can fight races to the gate. The Herald howls for a charge, barking orders alongside Cullen seamlessly.

Jac snarls as he slams his shield into a Red Templar, throwing the mutated man to the ground, before driving his sword deep into the monster’s chest.

_Oh, maybe that’s why Varric calls him Wolfie._

“Look out Bull!” Jac shouts, the qunari swinging his enormous axe around and collecting another Templar in the gut.

Dorian throws up another barrier as Jac strains against the crank; he moves like a wild animal but maintains control of his pack at all times. He never loses sight of the others. No one left behind.

Until it’s Jac that needs to be left behind.

They watch snow and rock rush down over Haven and the army of Red Templars and the Herald of Andraste.

Sitting in the snow amongst the huddled and shivering masses and simply waiting feels like waiting for death to come and find them. Dorian is plotting his return north when Jac stalks out of the blizzard like a wolf, holding himself strong for a long moment before collapsing.

He looks like a mess and Dorian isn’t sure how he survived. There’s a mess of gashes across his body, one eye swollen shut, and his lip split open down his chin, so bad that it exposes some of his teeth. The healers set to work instantly and Solas, Dorian, and Vivienne each take their turn to supply magic to the healing process.

Jac wakes, groggy and groaning in pain, but he sings with the others, his smile even more uneven with his damaged face.

“You’re going to split your wounds open again,” Dorian huffs.

“True,” he mumbles. “But look at them. We lost everything, and even now they still have hope.”

“They have you. You give them hope.”

Jac gives Dorian a confused look, gingerly laying back down onto his cot.

“You returned from the dead. Twice now. You’re a walking miracle.”

The Herald only sighs and holds his marked hand up, gazing into the dim green glow. “I’m a mistake…”

_But you’re alive and that matters most._

+++

Skyhold is something to behold and the Inquisition settles in well, especially with its newly named Inquisitor at the helm. Jac takes to leadership well, but his antics have Josephine on the edge of a breakdown. He’s hopeless with other nobles, worse with merchants, and can’t sit still in that ridiculous throne for more than a minute.

Dorian makes himself at home in the library, reorganising the books, and watching the daily comings and goings. Jac visits regularly, often covered in mud from training, either bothering the research assistant or asking Dorian’s opinion on things.

After a few months a woman, a Tranquil, is escorted into the library by Leliana, and set up with the research team. She has hair like antique gold and sun warmed skin and Jac arrives not long after, throwing his arms around the Tranquil woman and hugging her tight. They look so similar.

_The sister?_

The Inquisitor guides the woman over to Dorian, beaming delightedly. “Anya, this is Dorian; Dorian, this is my sister, Anya.”

“This is the one from the letters, yes?” Her voice is as monotone as all the Tranquil he’d previously met and a cold feeling of discomfort rolls through him.

_Is he blushing?_

“A pleasure, Anya,” Dorian manages.

Her face doesn’t change, but she nods, and the scar on Jac’s chin stretches as he smiles.

“Great! You two play nice,” he calls as he jogs off up the stairs.

Anya lingers for a moment and Dorian feels the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

“I shall leave you. It appears I am making you uncomfortable, yes?” She plucks a book from the nearby shelf, flipping it over in her hand and nodding.

Dorian wants to speak, to say something placating, let her know she’s not unwelcome, but that would be a lie. More than anything, he wants her to go away. Her expressionless features, so reminiscent of Jac’s, fill him with unease, and her dull voice lacks anyone of the spark of life that her brother’s holds. She wanders back to the research group, settling into a chair and starting to read.

Jac doesn’t take the stairs on his way down, swinging over the banister above and crashing to the floor near Dorian’s alcove. It would’ve been shocking if he didn’t do it most days.

“Must you,” Dorian sighs.

“Huh? Where’s Anya?”

“She went to go read.”

Dark eyes flick over to his sister and he huffs. “What did you say to her?”

“She left of her own accord, Jac.” Dorian can feel his defences come up, shoulders tensing.

_Did you consider that Tranquil might make other mages uncomfortable?_

Jac huffs again, absently picking at his teeth in a way that makes Dorian shudder.

“Just…” Jac sighs sadly and leans against the shelf next to Dorian. “Don’t let people make her feel unwelcome…”

It’s not a demand or an accusation, just a simple plea to someone he trusts. Guilt settles on Dorian and he offers the Inquisitor a small smile and a nod. That seems to be enough and Jac returns a lopsided smile and a lazy salute before heading down the stairs.

_I can’t believe he really just wants everyone to be safe._

+++

Dorian watches Jac heft a half-rotted corpse over his shoulder and hurl it into the pit. There’s a smear of muck left behind on the Inquisitor’s back and Dorian gives him a wide birth as the mage steps up to set the pit alight.

“I’ll never get the smell from my clothes,” he laments quietly as the scent of burning flesh fills the air.

“That was the last of them I think.” Jac wipes something off his shield with his bare hand and then rubs his hand on his breeches.

_I can’t believe just how revolting he can be._

They’ve spent the entire day clearing out these overrun trenches and the sun is getting low as the group head towards the main river to camp. At least it’s warm in the Exalted Plains and not some frozen tundra or a swamp.

Varric and Iron Bull busy themselves with starting a fire and it doesn’t take long for them to start arguing over the best method. Dorian can see Jac watching them as he removes his heavy armour, bottom lip jammed firmly under his teeth as he tries not to smile or laugh.

“Should we tell them you can make fire from nothing?” Jac whispers, leaning close to Dorian, who chuckles softly.

“Absolutely not, though I’m not sure I want to be around when the fight breaks out.”

“Yeah, I’d rather not be complicit when they kill each other…” Jac rolls his shoulders and smiles at Dorian. “Wanna go down to the water?”

Dorian raises an eyebrow at Jac. Under his gaze Jac shifts slightly, lifting his chin as though it’s a challenge and matching Dorian with a curious look that the mage can’t define. A moment passes and Jac chuckles and stands, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Where’re you off to, Wolfie?”

“Fill my water, maybe go for a swim.”

“I wouldn’t swim in that river, Boss. Current looks strong, doubt we’d catch you before you passed that elven camp down that way.” Bull gestures vaguely south-west and while he’s distracted Varric reorganises the pile of sticks. Jac just laughs and wanders off with a dismissive wave thrown over his shoulder.

The argument starts again and Dorian sighs, following Jac down to the river. He finds the Inquisitor sitting on a rock by the river cleaning his shield. Dorian simply observes for a moment before settling beside Jac and checking over his staff. There’s a small crack at the tip, and he sighs wearily.

“Is it damaged?” Jac asks as he puts his shield down.

“Mm, somewhat. I’ll have to get a replacement soon.” Dorian props his staff against a rock and sighs.

“I know if a sword is damaged it’s likely to break, probably at the worst possible time; is it the same with your staff?”

“Yes, though it’s more likely to explode; taking my hands, and probably some of my face, off in the process.”

Jac gives him a stunned smile. “That’d be a shame, you’ve got such a nice face.” He seems to instantly realise what he’s said and turns away, drawing his sword and studiously checking it for damage.

“And talented hands too,” Dorian teases.

_Don’t say that you fool—_

The warrior lets out a bashful laugh and Dorian feels his heart do a backflip.

_Stop that! Stop being so…so…stop it!_

“I’m sure you do. You wield that staff with a lot of grace, Dorian.” Jac moves to the edge of the river and splashes water on his face, drenching his hair and most of his shirt in the process. Dorian watches him comb fingers through his bronze hair, scratching at the shaved side that’s growing out and the beard that he’s starting to grow.

“You’re getting quite scruffy, Inquisitor,” Dorian snorts, even as his heart flutters.

“Not really had time for a shave…”

“The rest of us find the time.”

“We can’t all be as vain as you, Dorian.” Jac’s tone shifts, playful banter picking up a flare of frustration.

_Much less attractive, thank you._

Dorian starts to retort and then suddenly Jac is on top of him, knocking him off the rock and pinning him to the ground with a hand over his mouth. Dorian struggles against the warrior, only to have his wrist pinned.

“Shut up and look,” he hisses against Dorian’s ear before easing back slightly.

For a moment Dorian doesn’t want to obey this ruffian, glaring at the man above him who pays him no mind; Jac’s gaze is locked on something nearby and in the fading light his eyes look nearly back. Cautiously Dorian tips his head to follow Jac’s gaze.

_A wolf?_

Dorian’s heart stops. It’s a whole pack, at least five enormous black wolves padding silently past them. They’re fought wolves before without problem so he’s not sure why Jac has him pinned. The black fur looks slick in the twilight, catching the setting rays and moving like pitch across the dry landscape.

_When they’re not trying to take a chunk out of me, they’re quite beautiful._

“This is incredible,” Jac breathes, loosening his grip and sitting back to straddle Dorian. He’s completely captivated by the creatures, for which Dorian is grateful when he feels his face grow warm. The moment passes and Jac sighs, looking down at Dorian. “Did you see them?”

“Yes, now please get off me.”

Jac blinks and then seems to realise, scrambling off Dorian with a mumbled apology. The mage sits up with a wince, his head throbbing slightly from the impact, and by the time he’s on his feet Jac has gathered his sword and shield and is heading back to the now lit fire.

“Did you see those wolves! Maker, they were so beautiful, they went right past us!”

“Nice family reunion, Wolfie?”

“Bite me, Varric,” Jac laughs.

_You were raised by wolves, Jac._

They’re back on the road early next morning, heading for Pont Agur, and pain shoots up Dorian’s spine with each step. It takes him a long moment to recover after a battle with some demons and The Iron Bull gives him a strange look.

“I didn’t think you were so soft, Vint. Demon fighting getting to you?”

“Ah yes, well I don’t normally get tackled to the ground by some great buffoon who bounces my head off the dirt like a ball. It tends to leave some lingering pains,” he huffs, wincing as he latches the staff to his back once more. Dorian could heal his injury, but a petty part of him wants to make sure the Inquisitor knows.

Jac has the good sense to look ashamed as he sheaths his sword and yanks a talon off the dead terror. It’s still oozing as he places it into his pouch and Dorian is distracted from his pain by the urge to throw up.

“Let’s keep moving, the reports coming out of the Citadelle have me worried…” Jac’s deflecting and Dorian rolls his eyes.

They reach the bridge by noon and meet up with two scouts who help them restock supplies. There’s no more news coming out of the Citadelle, not since the last report, but the scouts claim there’s a strange light they can see at night, though Dorian’s not really listening. He takes the moment to rest, leaning on the newly constructed railing and watching the watering rushing under the bridge.

Varric shouts and Dorian whips around, catching sight of three bandits rushing them and throwing up a barrier around Jac and The Iron Bull as they rush forward.

“Not a moment’s peace!” Dorian calls and Jac manages a laugh as he blocks an arrow. The warrior turns and his face falls.

“Dorian!”

It’s the only warning he gets before a bandit appears from the shadows and pounces. Dorian feels twin daggers bite into his shoulder, and he yelps, dropping his staff and stumbling back before getting kicked in the chest. The wind rushes out of him and for a split second he can only see sky before water engulfs him. On instinct he gasps and chokes.

_I’m going to die._

He remembers Bull’s comments about the current as he feels himself being swept away as he struggles in vain.

_I can’t believe this is how I’m going to die._

His lungs burn, his head pounds, and his arms and legs burn as he strains to bring his head above water. Shadows creeps into his vision.

_No, please, Maker, no._

Just before the darkness takes him Dorian feels something solid wrap around his waist, then nothing.

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

_No more yelling._

“I wasn’t going to let him just be swept away, Bull!”

_Oh, he sounds upset._

Dorian sits up, lurching forward and coughing up all the water in his lungs. His whole body burns and he can’t seem to get enough air, gasping desperately until someone thumps him on the back a few times. Finally breathing steady Dorian takes in his surroundings.

They’re at the edge of the river, Varric beside him with a concerned smile, as Bull and a drenched Jac shout at each other.

“You’re more important, Boss!”

“No one is more important than anyone! No one gets left behind,” Jac snarls, baring his teeth in a feral display. Whether it’s the words or the snarl, The Iron Bull swallows anymore argument and brushes the Inquisitor off.

“All this over me—” Dorian’s glib comment is cut off by a raspy, wet cough.

“Dorian.” Jac is beside him in a moment, strong hands supporting the mage as he tries to expunge the damp from his lungs. “Thank the Maker, you’re okay…”

“I’m as surprised as you are,” Dorian wheezes.

“Wolfie here jumped in after you. Watching him throw armour off at high speed as he threw himself over the bannister was very impressive, if a little terror inducing.”

“It was reckless,” Bull grunts from nearby.

“I wasn’t exactly gonna stop and plan while Dorian was drowning, Bull.” Jac bares his teeth at the qunari again and Bull holds his hands up in a placating gesture.

Dorian isn’t sure what to say.

_I can’t believe you risked your life to save me._

“Besides, it’s my fault.”

“What are you talking about?” Dorian’s voice is still raspy, but his breath is coming easier now.

“Pretty sure we all saw that bandit kick him over the edge,” Varric reassures a guilting looking Jac.

“Yeah, but if I hadn’t injured you last night—”

“Don’t torture yourself, Boss. What’s done is done, everyone is still alive, so no use dwelling on it.”

“Bull is correct. I just need a moment to heal myself.”

Jac frowns, face a mess of concern and distress, but eventually relents. He doesn’t leave Dorian’s side, just slowly pulling his armour back on, fastening buckles without looking at the mage.

Dorian checks his shoulder, already bandaged, and gives it an experimental twist. It twinges sharply and he draws a sharp breath through his teeth.

“It didn’t go very deep but be careful.”

“Thank you, Jac.” Dorian speaks softly, embarrassed that he had to be rescued, but grateful all the same.

“Any time,” the warrior says with his usual lopsided smile.

“Let’s try not to repeat the event though.”

Jac laughs as he finished buckling his armour on and Dorian feels a flush creep up his neck. He distracts himself by focusing his mana, letting it surge through his body to his bruised chest, tense back, and injured shoulder. Relief floods him and he sighs. The injuries are by no means gone, but it’s a blessed reprieve.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Dorian,” Jac says bashfully, watching the mage work in awe.

_You’re a fool Jac. A beautiful and kind fool._

+++

Jac finds him in the library, carrying a long wrapped package carefully, his sister trailing behind him.

"Good morning, Jac, Anya," Dorian says, marking the page in his book as he closes it and stands.

"You have already said good morning to me, Dorian," Anya remarks and Jac chuckles.

"Morning! I have something for you." Jac offers the package out to him and Dorian takes it with a skeptical look. "Though it comes with a small favour."

The package contains a beautiful staff, ornately carved with intertwining twin dragons clutching a red stone at the head. Dorian is in awe as he turns the weapon over in his hands. "I'm not sure what to say..."

"Well I didn't want your staff exploding on you, and Anya helped with locating this staff and I dunno, it reminds me of you..." Jac trails off and rubs the back of his neck.

"You said there was a caveat?" Dorian turns an amused, if slightly suspicious look to Jac, only to receive that endearing smile in return.

"I was hoping you'd come to The Winter Palace with me to help stop the assassination? I figure you'd enjoy the party, and it'd be nice to have you there."

The invitation to accompany the Inquisitor to Halamshiral definitely throws Dorian. He’s not sure if he’s more surprised that Jac personally requested his presence, or that Josephine is allowing the warrior to go at all.

She’s spent the last month relentlessly drilling Jac on The Great Game and Orlesian customs and Dorian is certain he’s caught her weeping into a glass of wine on more than one occasion. Jac is proving to be almost hopeless with Josephine’s little roleplays of courtly interactions and Vivienne is convinced the Inquisitor will be eaten alive the second they set foot in the Winter Palace.

What no one expects is Jac Trevelyan’s transformation for feral animal to the picture of refinement in the course of an afternoon.

Dorian knows he should pick his jaw off the floor, but his still in shock. Jac had arrived with Josephine and Vivenne as the rest of them waited in the front courtyard, but the man being escorted in by two women couldn’t be the Inquisitor.

His face is clean shaven, his posture and stride are confident but collected, and his hair have been tidied, the long strands trimmed, and the short side shaved to the skin. He seems perfectly at ease.

“Good evening, everyone, thank you for waiting,” Josephine says, all relaxed smiles and a far cry from her fretful state that morning.

“Hope everyone’s on their best behaviour, or Josie is gonna have me flayed alive.”

_Nope. Simply a wolf in sheep’s clothing._

Once inside Dorian finds himself a cosy spot outside to begin drinking. Jac finds him a while later, when Dorian feels delightfully relaxed, despite their reason for attendance.

“How’re you finding the party?” Jac has his own glass of spiced punch in hand and though he gives off a relaxed air, Dorian can see the way he runs his finger over the rim of the glass repeatedly, letting it ring out with a strange dull whine every second or third pass.

“I’m so at home, I’m half expecting my mother to materialise from the crowd to criticize my manners.” He’s only half joking if he’s completely honest. He saw a friend of his mother’s inside and the garden was the best spot to avoid her.

Jac chuckles softly, and the banal smile he’d adopted for the evening faulters into his usual uneven grin and Dorian’s heart flutters.

_I should probably stop drinking._

“That would be a shame.” Jac pauses and worries at his bottom lip for a moment before taking a deep drink from his goblet. “Uh, Dorian?”

“Yes, Inquisitor?”

“Please don’t call me that,” he says like he’s said it a hundred times. He probably has.

“Of course. What is it, Jac?” Dorian sips his drink, watching all the confidence drain away from the man before him. He frowns slightly, sure he’s not the only one noticing.

“Well, I was wondering,” he takes a deep breath, “would you save me a dance?”

Time stops for a long moment and Dorian can only blink. That smile is fading, and Dorian knows he’s taking too long to answer, but he doesn’t have an answer. A small chuckle escapes him and Jac’s face falls.

“I mean, I just…” Jac moves to run a hand through his hair and pulls himself up before he ruins his hair. “N-nevermind.”

It’s only as he turns to leave, and time starts moving again, that Dorian finds his voice. “Don’t we have an assassination to stop?

“Oh…right.” Jac lets out a breath, but his smile is gone, and his eyes have lost their luster. “I mean, still…at least one dance before the evening is over?”

_You can’t just say things like that! What does that even mean?_

Dorian can feel panic rising in his throat and his mouth spills words without his consent.

“Dancing with the Evil Tevinter Magister, in full view of every noble in Orlais? How shocking.”

“They’ll live.” Jac doesn’t sound quite as interested as he did before.

“You say that now. If you can find me ten silk scarves, I’ve got a dance that will really shock them.”

_Oh Maker, why did I say that?_

Jac gives him a half-hearted laugh and nods before heading off, shoulders slumped. “Let me know if you see anything.”

The night ends with one dead emissary, the Grand Duchess under arrest, her brother sentenced to death, and a reconciliation between the Empress and her elven lover. With the party in full swing and the drink flowing Dorian finds Jac on the balcony, gazing into the distance morosely.

“You’ve already received at least seven proposals; Josephine has her work cut out for her.” He stands beside Jac, leaning on the banister and smiling gently. “You look lost in thought. Something on your mind?”

“It’s just…been a long night,” Jac mumbles, not looking at Dorian. “For every person we save, others will still die. It feels so never ending.”

There’s so many things Dorian wants to say, to do, he’s spent most of the night dwelling on all his interactions with Jac and he’s still so unsure. The Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, the man who’s going to change the world; who acts like an uncivilized barbarian most of the time, but would throw his own life away to save a teammate; who acts like he can’t talk to nobles, but has charmed the entire Orlesian court. He’s definitely not the kind of man that would usually peak Dorian’s interest.

Yet Dorian stands beside him and his fingers itch to reach out, he wants to apologise for earlier. More than anything he wants to ask Jac to dance.

“What you need is a distraction. I have just the thing.” Dorian pushes off the balcony, pleased when Jac’s gaze follows him. He bows slightly and offers a hand to the Inquisitor. “Let’s dance.”

There’s a long moment of silence as Jac just looks at him and Dorian has to fight the urge to run his mouth, but eventually Jac’s face softens into a dazzling smile and he takes the offered hand.

“I thought you didn’t want to dance with me?” Jac pulls Dorian in close and the scent of rich spices washes over the mage, masking a faint hint of blood from the evening’s fights.

“I simply wasn’t expecting you to know how to dance, dear Inquisitor. You’ve shocked us all with your abilities tonight. The whole of Orlais is eating out of your hand.”

Jac chuckles and tentatively places a hand on Dorian’s waist as they begin to dance. “I don’t like doing it. All this pomp and circumstance isn’t me…it feels unhelpful.”

“That’s really all you want isn’t it, to help people?”

“Being born into nobility shouldn’t mean that you’re above anybody.”

Dorian searches Jac’s face for a long moment, so unused to the sincerity and warmth. There’s nothing but truth and it scares Dorian.

“You’re a good man, Jac.”

“Even if I act like I was raised by wolves?” That playful demeanour is returning, the weight of the evening lifting from his shoulders, and Dorian laughs.

“If you’d asked me months ago, I would’ve said you were a barbarian. Though it seems to have become part of your charm.” Dorian reaches out and brushes some of Jac’s hair from his face.

Jac leans into his touch and Dorian’s heart skips a beat, and when the warrior pulls him closer, he feels warmth in his cheeks. There’s a warm flush to Jac’s skin and Dorian isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol they’ve been drinking or something else until Jac closes the distance between them.

The kiss is soft and over far too quickly. When they part Jac’s face is a much darker shade of pink and Dorian only gives him a moment before pulling him in for a much deeper kiss. Jac’s groans against his lips only spur Dorian on, though he fails to realise they’ve been moving until his back hits a wall and Jac pins him there with his whole body. Their hands start to roam, and Dorian’s mind is blissfully blank, until someone nearby clears their throat.

Jac leaps away like he’s been shocked, meeting Leliana’s amused gaze and ducking his head. Dorian brushes himself off, his ears burning, trying not to let his disappointment show.

“My apologies for the interruption, Inquisitor, but you are needed inside.” Somehow, she manages to sound but amused and apologetic, but Jac nods.

“I’ll be there in a moment.”

Leliana gives him a sly smile and steps back inside.

“You shouldn’t keep her waiting—”

Jac cuts the mage off with one more kiss before pulling away with a chuckle. Dorian smiles and tugs Jac close using the sash and fixes the rumpled outfit.

“Gotta make sure I don’t look indecent when I go back inside?”

“Lest Josephine have my hide.”

Jac licks his lips nervously and then smiles, lopsided and delighted. “Thank you for the dance, it was the perfect way to end the night.” He takes Dorian’s hand and kisses his knuckles before slipping away and heading inside.

_I can’t believe this is where my life has taken me._

_I can’t believe I’m still standing._

_I can’t believe I’ve fallen for him._

_I hope it never ends._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Grim for the beta!


End file.
